I was born Jenda Merk-Crestview twenty seven years ago in a small, relatively unknown, village called 'Moarca', located in the province of Güer'kal, in the south eastern continent of this world. My mother was Roscelyn Merk (deceased) and my father is (or at least was the last time I spoke with him), Soriano Crestview. You may wonder why I bear not any of those last names. It is a most tragic history I shall relate to you in a moment.

At the time of my birth, my parents made a living as low-class employees of powerful merchants. My mother used to do a secretarial, bookkeeping job, while my father was a specialist in meat preservation (treating meat so that it lasts longer uncooked). While I was still but a child, however, they evolved intellectually. They went to an academy and graduated when I was 12. My mother specialized in the preparation of medicinal potions and my father in a relatively new discipline known as 'Mindology' or 'Mentalogy', which deals with the nature and diseases of the mind or the mental. In fact, I was irreversibly influenced by my father's conversations with me about Mentalogy. I found the possibility of understanding and curing the mind fascinating. So much, that I spent many years studying it. But I am getting ahead of myself.

I had a relatively happy childhood. In particular, I fondly remember my father's games and conversations with me. He was such a happy, joyous man. He was short, bald, wore a black beard that eventually turned gray, always with a smiling face. His eyes were small, but his look was gentle. My mother, well, I remember less warmly. She was phlegmatic, cold, unloving, and selfish. I think I remember seeing her smile only a few times throghout her life. One is supposed to love one's parents equally, but I must confess that my love for my father far surpassed any love I had for my mother. I only remember her as a dominant, controlling, greedy woman, and we never looked eye to eye. As the years passed, I progressively realized what kind of person she was. Even worse is the fact that she succeeded in corrupting my father into the ways of lying and deceiving others for the good of our immediate family (I have an older brother called Enrique, of whom I shall speak some other time). I guess one could argue that my father loved my mother unconditionally, to the point of accepting and adopting her corrupt ways. That is an issue I'm still pondering. In any case, they amassed a fortune. I remember that within a relatively short period, my family became extremely wealthy.

I had thought that our newly acquired fortune had originated from my parents' hard work in their new trades. Alas, I eventually discovered (never mind how) the true source. They had concocted and executed for several years a monetary fraud the details of which are not relevant here. Suffice it to say they sold inexistent real-estate properties to unsuspecting buyers. As a direct consequence of my parents' actions, hundreds of hardworking mid-class people were left in severe and irreparable poverty. A few of them, driven by desperation, committed suicide (later I learned of a case in which the father had killed all of his family and then committed suicide). The fraud would have continued had I not discovered it. I must grant that the ability of my parents was astonishing. They managed to cheat people in a way that made it virtually impossible to prove anything conclusive in a court of law.

The whole situation was horribly complicated by the fact that, at about the time of my discovery, my mother fell ill of consumption, which presented me with the most difficult conundrum I have ever had to face. Should I report my discovery to the authorities, and let them take legal and penal actions against a gravely ill woman, who happened to be my own mother, or should I let it go unnoticed and let my mother die a quiet death? It was the toughest decision I have ever had to make. I decided to report the crime. Local authorities and many of the victims eventually pressed charges, a trial took place, and my parents were found guilty of fraud, sentenced to twenty years in prison. I played a key part in the process, for I provided all the evidence (books, notes, letters, memos, etc.) that made the case against them clear and tight. Eventually, my mother died a miserable and painful death in prison. And my father, I know not if he's still alive. I never saw them again. My brother and his wife, whom I loved dearly, took my parents' side and cursed me as the most evil daughter of all times, and, in a way, they were right. To worsen it all, and despite all my efforts, the local authorities did not do anything to somehow compensate the victims (my parents were ruined by lawyers' fees and multiple fines they had to pay, and I had no money of my own to amend even a fraction of the effects of the fraud).

To this day, I have not forgiven my parents for what they did, and I believe I never will. These events still haunt me, and will keep haunting me for the rest of my life. They fill my heart with sorrow, my soul with anger, and my mind with guilt. I remember my father begging me, with tears in his eyes, not to report the fraud, if only for the sake of my mother's illness. But I remained painfully firm in my decision. I ended up being deeply ashamed of my heritage. I have neither honor to be proud nor heroic deeds to tell about my parents.

To distance myself from it all, I decided to adopt the name Karise Dian and pursue as much honor as possible, to compensate for the lost honor of my parents. I took upon myself the mission of visiting as many of the victims as possible, and apologize, with tears in my eyes, for my parents' actions. The poverty of the victims that did not end killing themselves, and the sadness of the families of the dead, left me with a deep sense of compassion for others. I cannot see a beggar on the streets without feeling this irresistible urge to give him or her something, if only to redeem my parents actions. In every beggar and poor I encounter, I cannot but see the kind of pain my parents had caused. This urge to help the poor was generalized to an overarching urge to help the innocent and do justice. The evil my parents had done was more than enough, and had to be opposed by only good and justice. Hence my seeking the High Council in Dysotopia.

A crucial aspect of my striving for as much honor as possible was to train myself not only in the corporeal, but also in the spiritual, thus cultivating Mentalogy, driven by a need to understand why my parents would do such a thing (greed was too easy an explanation). Alas, I discovered that Mentalogy was (and still is) a most incomplete, ambiguous, and disorganized discipline, which led me to the paths of philosophical reflection. Hence my condition of an intellectual fighter. I trained myself as much in the art of conceptual, logical analysis and rhetoric, as in the art of mele-combat with the bastard sword (my weapon of choice).

I eventually came to Dysotopia in search of a woman by the name of Elmindreda. My search was motivated by the fact that her parents had been slaughtered by orcs for occupying their lands. A few of the massacred humans were direct victims of the fraud. They were outcast and forced to occupy and farm (unbeknownst to them) orc lands, and were slaughtered simply for trying to make a living after the economic devastation caused by my parents. Such were (and still are) the long-term consequences of their actions. Thus far, I have not been able to find this woman. Eventually, Dysotopia became my permanent home.

I tell you this story, my dear Fellows, with much sadness. I only hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me for my unforgivenness towards my parents.

I truly appreciate your kind words, Nel. The certainly provide some comfort to me... I take this opportunity to let you know about how sorry I am for the situation you are going through now. Please, let me know if there is any way I could help you in that.